


Down Range

by japastiel



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angry Pining, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Shooting lessons, Sniper Hux, guilty kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japastiel/pseuds/japastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux exhales quickly and pulls the trigger. Near miss. He hasn’t hit a shot that wide in years. He taps to pause his datapad and grinds his teeth together. He pushes up to his knees and curls his lip into his well practiced snarl, “Ren. I thought I told you to leave.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Range

**Author's Note:**

> a BIGass thanks to my amazing buddy [[kyluxicle]](http://kyluxicle.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this for me! <3

Oh-two-thirty is the perfect time at the blaster range. Quiet. Isolated. And Hux is glad for it. One of his best kept secrets is that he graduated from the First Order Academy as one of the top long range marksmen in not only his class, but the three previous and at least five classes afterwards. The first time he had held a blaster rifle it had felt cold in his hands. Dull. He had good aim for a preteen, and had only gotten better with practice. It wasn’t until he had the opportunity to shoot long range to learn about the weapons system, scopes and other technicalities of sniper shooting that he found himself captivated.

 

Before Hux had made rank and started commanding his own fleet, he had savored every solo mission he could take. The strict, rigorous training had been worth the results: the rigid adherence to the smallest detail culminated with a swift kill, the termination of life. Instant gratification. He was one of the best shots in his division, not that petty accolades had mattered all that much when he had bigger long term goals in mind, but knowing he was the best at something other than command was more satisfying than he would ever care to admit.

 

Hux walks through the rec area silently, the usual imposing click of his heels suppressed in favor of his well practiced covert gait, past the dark empty room that he knows Kylo Ren uses for his private training. The slash marks and deep dents in the walls are lingering reminders of his violent everpresence. Hux grates his bare thumb over the calloused spot on his forefinger and wills himself to cleanse the irksome ghost of Kylo Ren from his mind. He doesn't need Kylo’s presence ruining his rec time as well.

 

He keys in his code for the officers holo blaster-range and locks the door behind him. Though he isn’t worried about being bothered so early in the morning. Hux sets the slim rifle case on the back table and types in his range preferences. Various wind and weather conditions are programmed to shift over time like a natural environment, moving targets downrange at approximately 1300 meters. Average planet rotation and gravity for New Republic worlds. Not the most challenging settings nor the longest shot he’s ever made, but it’s been a stressful week and he wants to enjoy himself.

 

He slides his greatcoat off his shoulders and adjusts his glasses across his nose before he starts assembling his weapon. He hates that he needs corrective lenses, but without them there is no way he could hit targets outside ten meters. He whispers in hushed tones, almost a memorized chant after so many years with the same weapon, that he’s grateful for smooth assembly and craftsmanship. He had designed every detail to his specific tastes down to the matte black paint colour and longer than usual barrel length.

 

He slides the telescopic sight down the rail system into place and checks the line of sight before snicking the bipod into the base mounting platform. Setting his datapad to track the projected weather changes so he can adjust quickly on the fly, he makes his way to the firing line. Already he’s breathing easier as he looks down the range, taking in the manufactured sights and sounds. The slight waver in the bluish holo-figures hampers the illusion of a real scenario, but his performance and statistics are real and are what counts at the end of the day.

 

He drops to one knee and looks through the sight downrange, readings loop back to the datapad feeding him instant information while focusing on the drifting targets. Pulling back, he settles the legs onto the floor before sinking to a prone position. He tugs the recoil pad at the back of the rifle into the dip of his shoulder and rests his face against the cool dallorian alloy cheek rest.

 

He breathes. Once. Twice. On the exhale he pulls the trigger. Perfect shot. He can feel the blood sluggish in his veins, the pulse in his neck is slowing under his control. His chilled finger settles back into place. Two more breaths and another exhaled perfect shot.

 

His rifle stays ever reliable and maintains accuracy with tight tolerances. He’s made perfect shots on some of the most high profile assassinations in recent years with her. The self adjusting bipod sticks and he switches it off, he hasn’t always had this fancy equipment and was trained to think on his feet and work on the fly with makeshift equipment. He recalls the notorious long range kill seven years prior he made with a cracked tree branch as a front balance.

 

After three more consecutive good shots, he switches his rangefinder off. He shoots without his tech and uses his honed senses to observe and feel the room and the targets for accuracy. This was why he had become the best. He didn't want to rely on anything that could fail at any given time. He inhales and counts the sluggish beats of his heart. One. Two. Exhale. He pulls the trigger full back with the ball of his finger and glances down at the number on the pad. Not the most accurate hit, but still a kill shot.

 

Before he sets up for a seventh shot, the room goes static still, like all the white noise has been sucked out of it. Like the anti-grav has been shifted and his stomach lurches with the downward pull of inertia. As if there is a strong tug on each one of his cells, he feels the the heavy cloud of Kylo Ren's agitated presence at the back of his neck. Ren isn’t here on a whim or to train. Hux can feel the stare of being observed silently, carefully.

 

Now completely distracted and angry, Hux pushes the safety on the back of the rifle and dips his chin to rest on the cool metal. He hates letting his thoughts drift aimlessly, but allows his mind to go blank before wishing for someone to destroy verbally. He wants someone he can truly lash out, carve his words into like well balanced vibroblades, to watch them wither as if actually bleeding out right in front of his eyes. He longs to slice into them with his vocal venom, to ruin them, carve away until nothing is left. He wishes it could be Kylo. For him to barge into the room and enter Hux’s private space and tempt him just a bit more.  His heart flutters, a subtle heat rises into his throat and he jerks his head up as his mind topples toward an entirely different sort of longing. One he’s only allowed himself to indulge in once. And never again.

 

He stands cracking his knuckles in a more than firm grip around his rifle, washing the disgusting fantasy of Kylo Ren from his mind with the routine of disassembling everything. Trying his damnedest to forget that the man in question is somewhere on the other side of the locked door.

 

He methodically places each piece back in its designated spot, securing each piece slowly. By the time Hux has talked himself through a scathing premeditated speech and exits the range, Ren is nowhere to be seen.

  


Two weeks pass before Hux finds himself lying on the ground of the blaster range again at an unholy hour. This time it's just after his first shot that he feels Ren. Watching. Waiting. Observing. He swipes his datapad clear and pauses his rifling program, sliding the door open, wishing the calm hiss would slam back to better suit his mood. He has no premeditated speech prepared and he isn’t sure what he plans on saying. Reckless and hopeful. For what he isn’t certain.

 

“Get in here,” is not what he expects to hear himself say and as Kylo sweeps out from the shadows of the dim rec room into the well lit blaster range. Hux turns his self-doubt on it’s head and snaps, “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Observing.”  

 

Hux raises his brows, asking for a further explanation.

 

No reply.

 

“Observing what, exactly?”

 

“It’s in my best interest to know your strengths and skills. I didn’t previously know about this… skillset.”

 

“My hobbies are none of your concern, Ren. Now if you’ll leave me to it.” Hux cuts himself off short and nods towards the door inviting Ren to leave. He knows he can’t force him, but he needs Ren to go. He’s a horrible distraction. Only once has Hux indulged himself against his better judgment, in thinking of Kylo Ren, off duty and irresponsibly. One time while the hot beat of the freshwater shower pulsed over his skin, he thought about how Ren would stalk into his personal space, dark and brooding. How his full pout would feel pressed to his bared neck, his teeth biting hard into his thready pulse and then miraculously stretched around his cock. How Ren would coax him with seductive words and clever fingers until Hux laid openly sobbing and pliant for Ren to simply take whatever he wanted. Hux longed for him in that moment, letting the hot water run cold over his shivering spent body, in the filthiest most intimate way.

 

Hux turns and examines Ren from head to toe and reminds himself bitterly that his fantasy is just that—a fantasy. A flighty desire he would never dream of seeing fulfilled.

 

But he falters and isn’t sure if he wants Ren to leave at all. His mouth runs dry at the notion of asking Ren to stay, and then to tolerate his discomforting, penetrating gaze so he can witness the surprise on his face when he sees Hux’s honed expertise.

 

Silence stretches between them and Ren doesn’t move. Eventually, Hux decides to ignore him and turns back towards the range to set up for another shot. His hands are fixed softly in place but are noticeably clammy. Nerves. Hux knows he shouldn’t leave his mind or back vulnerable to Ren, he isn’t afraid of him by any means, but he doesn’t trust him. He isn’t sure why he cares to impress the bastard, either.

 

Ren stays. And then stays longer. It’s clear he isn’t planning on leaving  as he looms like a bored stormcloud behind Hux. His slow breathing through the voice modulator is the only sound besides the soft beeps from Hux’s datapad collecting real-time measurements. Hux crinkles his nose, crinkling his glasses back into place and inhales. He can feel Ren’s presence, palpable like a thick humid fog in his lungs. He mentally tries to shake Ren from his mind as he inhales. And again.

 

Hux exhales quickly and pulls the trigger. Near miss. He hasn’t hit a shot that wide in years. He taps to pause his datapad and grinds his teeth together. He pushes up to his knees and curls his lip into his well practiced snarl, “Ren. I thought I told you to leave.”

 

Kylo moves like he always does, like his joints and muscles are struggling against each other. Heavy and disjointed. He unlatches the mask and pulls it off, dropping it on the table next to the rifle case. He opens his mouth, gaping like a bewildered goldfish before closing it again. His brows knit together, confused, questioning at something unspoken as Hux waits. And waits. Waits for nothing.

 

“Ren.” Hux breaks the silence. “What do you want?”

 

“I can hear--” Ren starts, shaking his head loosely, his voice a perfect imitation of his sloppy gait, “Would you?” Ren finally asks, nodding towards the rifle, his eyes looking anywhere but at Hux’s flinty gaze.

 

“Would I what, Ren? Spit it out.” Hux’s lip quirks into a nearly undetectable smirk. He laces his bare hands together tightly, and waits again, patiently for Kylo Ren to admit that he wants something. Hux’s silent gloating is short lived as he realizes that he _wants_ to hear Kylo admit to nearly anything in his unmodulated surprisingly supple voice. Hux panics knowing that he wants Kylo to drop to his knees and plead his case, his stalking is nothing more than a feeble excuse, a failed attempt to spend time together. Hux hates himself when he realizes that he wants Kylo to beg at his feet, to openly admit that he wants something, anything from him.

 

Wordlessly, Kylo approaches and crouches, his shoulder hovering next to Hux’s as he takes in the length of the range, his dark eyes flick back to the rifle and datapad. He glances at Hux’s bare fingers and pulls off his own gloves, slowly. One finger freed at a time before tucking them under his belt. He drops a knee to the floor, and slides the bipod off and tucks the end back into his shoulder.

 

Hux wants to protest. To pull his rifle, finely tuned and adjusted to his personal preferences, from Kylo’s fingers and berate him until he has no choice but to leave. Instead he finds his himself off kilter as Kylo nudges into his space, his broad shoulder pushing into his chest. Wordlessly requesting guidance. Hux finds his fingers brushing intuitively at Kylo’s elbow, guiding it into a better position before he can stop himself and put an end to this nonsense.

 

Hux licks his lips nervously and pulls Kylo’s shoulders back, his fingers rolling lazy muscles back, straightening his spine and pulling the rifle into proper position, and whispers, “It’s easier to see if it’s closer in like this. You want it to rest in the joint not on the bone.” Hux can feel Ren exhale slowly, and takes note of the way his bones settle, hanging loose and oddly at ease. Hux presses in closer, his lips unnecessarily close to Kylo’s ear, “Line up the sights, and pull gently. Don’t jerk.”

 

“I know how to fire a blaster,” Kylo says, his voice barely above a whisper as he flicks the loose hair back from his face. The stray pieces fall back into his eyes almost immediately.

 

“Then why are you here, Ren?” Hux asks, quietly scolding, observing the datapad feedback as Ren pulls the trigger and misses. Ren huffs and moves his trigger finger to push his hair back out of his face, his effort is pointless as his view is immediately obscured again.

 

Hux pulls his lower lip between his teeth and wonders if he’s entirely lost his mind as he tucks the offending curl behind Kylo’s ear for him. The strands are silky and soft and barely stay put and he pulls his fingers back quickly into a tight fist when he’s tempted to let his hand linger longer than necessary.  

 

“It would be easier to see if you kept your hair regulation length,”  Hux says snidely, his soft breath biting at Kylo’s neck. He wets his lips when he see the gooseflesh form on Ren’s neck. His eyes snap to Ren's mouth where his tongue darts out to pull his lips back to chew nervously between his teeth.  

 

Ren rolls his shoulder forward and grips the rifle harder. His fingers tense, nearly white knuckled. He doesn’t move to fire another shot at all. Hux reaches forward, effectively wrapping his arm around Kylo to snick the safety into place. Instead of pulling the rifle out of Kylo’s hands, keeping them apart at a safe distance from each other, instead of ending their impromptu lesson, growling at Ren for assuming he can interrupt him like this, distract him from something he enjoys, something private-- Hux trails his fingers over the back of his bare hand, then up the rough material of Kylo’s sleeve. A slight static hum pricks at his fingertips and stills when his hand finally rests over Ren’s broad shoulder. When Ren looks back, their eyes meet for the first time and a faint crackle of electricity rolls up Hux’s spine. His shoulders tense and tingle and he feels sick.

 

This is wrong. He hates Kylo Ren and yet when he backs away it feels like he’s pulling against a riptide current dragging him in to fulfill his most indulgent fantasies—a gravitational pull he can't seem to resist. He stutters forward and pauses to remind himself. “This,” Hux starts, voice strained and drawn out, “is wrong.” Any reply that could have been dies on his lips as Kylo strikes with the expected force a predator should have and claims Hux’s mouth.

 

The instant their lips meet Hux feels like he’s drowning in a sea of fuzzy static. Everything is off kilter all at once. His more logical protests are lost in the quicksand of Kylo reeling him in. He can feel Kylo dripping like a cracked inkwell into his mind. With each passing second, Kylo’s perspective bleeds in clouding Hux’s sharp mind. What it’s like to press his lips, curiously into Hux’s. They’re barely touching and Hux can feel the chain reaction chemical explosion between them. The oscillating loop reverberating back in an overwhelming need for more.

 

He wants to pull back and deny Kylo another kiss. He wishes once for the skill to fish into Kylo’s mind and rip out what he knows—what he can easily see for himself now. This was supposed to be part of Hux’s fantasy that he kept selfishly private.

 

Hux should be angry that Kylo is pressing into his thoughts, sifting around in his mind, but as he sinks his hands into Kylo’s thick hair, and lets Kylo in, stupidly, openly, unthwarted, he feels the flutter of serenity settle into his bones.

 

Hux opens his mouth lazily, barely, just enough to flick the tip of his tongue across Ren’s lower lip and hears the clatter of metal on the duracrete floor. Usually he would be horrified that one of his most prized possessions had been discarded so carelessly, but usually he wouldn’t be pulling Kylo Ren into a hard kiss by the back of his neck. Usually he wouldn’t be pushing Kylo Ren onto the ground, biting at his full lips, caging his hips between his knees. Usually the rifle would be the most important thing in the room, but the alarming kiss currently suckerpunching Hux in the gut, stealing his breath, takes precedence.

 

Hux has no sooner licked passed Kylo’s lips and tasted the tip of his tongue when he’s being shoved away. He hits the ground hip first,hard, and watches Ren scramble to his feet shoving his hand through his hair, “I have to–” he looks, wild-eyed towards the door before turning abruptly to make a hasty exit. It slides open and he stalks through stiffly, ungloved and forgetting his mask.

 

Hux presses the tips of his fingers to his mouth briefly—shocked at what had just taken place—and moves tightly to collect his tech from the ground. He avoids touching the mask while packing his things, sorting them into their designated spots hoping to make his exit before Ren can return. He methodically straps parts in and clicks compartments shut, rehearsing the speech he never thought he would have to give himself. Fraternization between them is unthinkable. It can’t happen. It’s frowned upon between officers of the First Order and they are no exception. No matter that Ren is technically outside the chain of command and no one besides Snoke could punish Hux. It’s a bad idea. It’s impossible. End of story.

 

The door slides open and Hux turns to start his lecture, ready to quote every rule and regulation he can think of. To make a convincing argument with logic even Kylo Ren can’t deny.

 

But he’s left speechless.

 

Kylo doesn’t look ashamed or nervous. The heat that had flushed over his face as he’d left is only in his eyes now. He takes advantage of his naturally long stride and in three quick steps has Hux pulled back into a searing kiss by his lapels. He butts their foreheads together as Hux’s eyes flutter back open, unaware that he had closed them.

 

“Your arguments are stupid. There is no reason we can’t– You think loudly– I can hear your thoughts, your stupid fantasies and I–” Kylo’s voice trails away and he makes his point instead with another firm kiss.

 

The thrill of being handled roughly fades almost instantly when Ren’s bare hand lands on his neck, stroking softly over his jawbone. “Ren.” Hux stops him from deepening their kiss, pulling away enough to speak but dipping his face further into Kylo's open palm, silently aching for more of his touch. “There are so many reasons we can’t do this.”

 

“Ok. Fine,” Kylo nods unevenly. “Name one. One actual rule that you haven’t made up yourself that would keep us from–” He doesn’t finish as Hux pushes him away and moves to finish packing his rifle.

 

Hux motions with his words between them. “This cannot happen. It’s against every rule, and–” Hux isn’t certain whether he pauses for dramatic effect or simply because he doesn’t want to say the lie out loud. “And because this isn’t something I actually want, Ren. It’s a simple fantasy. Nothing more.”

 

Hux grabs the latched case from around Kylo’s mask, leaving it untouched, “Don’t forget your mask on your way out. And you still need to forward me me a copy of your last mission report.”

 

Hux steps over the threshold without sparing a single glance at Kylo and lets the door slide closed behind him. He keeps his mind as empty as possible until he’s within his own quarters before he finally lets himself wonder if denying Ren was a mistake. He considers leaving his rifle in his sitting room and returning to find him to tell him he’s changed his mind. Instead, he packs the case away and changes into a loose pair of sleep pants.

 

In the morning he finds two unread notifications on his datapad. The first from Kylo Ren, a brief summary of his last mission and the latter the internal private communication that Ren has been dispatched for a six week mission abroad, planetside in the unknown regions for First Order recon, and to expect radio silence from him until his return. He reads the further and realizes that Kylo requested the mission late last night. Apparently running away to the other side of the galaxy is how he copes with rejection. Hux skims the fine details and considers that Ren is most likely taunting him. Provoking him by requesting a solo mission, undercover silent reconnaissance. A snipers mission. It's something so wildly out of Ren's skillset that it could be nothing else, a test to see if Hux will chase after him when the mission inevitably goes sideways.   

 

Hux smirks and taps his datapad off, glad that he gets six whole weeks to disappoint him. Ren can deal with the fallout on his own or with one of his own knights. Hux enters the bridge and finds everything running smoothly, efficiently… and yet something seems to be missing. He ignores that it’s probably Kylo, his usual presence lingering like an inky damper aboard the ship no where to be found.

 

Six weeks.

  
Six weeks, Hux considers, is just enough time to forget why kissing Kylo Ren had felt like a good idea.

 

* * *

 

Stomping through the low lying brush on a sparsely inhabited New Republic planet, Ren grins wickedly under his mask. He knows what he's doing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and it's unlikely Hux is an exception. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [[tumblr]](http://saintvader.tumblr.com/)


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